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Under the Sky MAG
June 21, 2016
His lips taste like freedom,
And the sky is too wide –
Splintered with red and gold.
On the back of his motorcycle
And my nails dig into his side –
Fearless
I lean forward, mixing helmet and hair
And his skin tastes like tomorrow –
Fresh and hot
He speaks my name in cursive
And I will always follow –
The currents of his voice
© Martha V., Morton Grove, IL
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